November killed October’s wrath
Long before the break of dawn
Transitions often comes when least expected

A day before that never was
So far beyond what could have been
Its ending brought us back to the beginning

And as the day bled into night
The truth stung like a thousand cuts
We buried our denials inside acceptance

A solemn ceremony vain
We called the walking dead by name
And offered each a rose for their repentance

And what of souls and dust to dust
The words like links to bind our lust
To images in scrapbooks full of mischief

Dissecting pixels with our pen
While journeying from now to then
When love was just a footnote
On our wish list

And how does love become a thing
That’s sliced in two with razor strings
Creating pools of pity for our pain

With details to make devils blush
The sum of which is half as much
As all the hidden sorrow that remains

TM DiSarro

©2021 TM DiSarro / MindScapes Publishing

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EVERY WICKED BIRD

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Art: Pinterest